The War Tiger
by MessyLittleDifferences
Summary: A chronicle of the exploits of the second most dangerous man in London.


A harsh, cold winter's night and Sebastian Moran is trudging back through the dim lit London streets, smoking a rather well filled cigarette. Sent home from the army, he is still in his uniform, his medals of achievements glittering proudly in the night light. Though Moran doesn't bother with them, if anything he's gutted he doesn't have a badge for each superb kill he has managed to get. _I've got more headshots than the whole army_, he would usually brag to his regiment before leading them across enemy lines. He hadn't meant to get dishonourable discharge, he hadn't_ meant_ to get caught. But he had, and that is a story we will get into later.

To his right he sees a pub, and smirking to himself, walks in jingling the last of his change in his pocket. Plonking himself down on a bar stool and dropping his heavy rucksack to the floor he orders a bitter, looking around for any talent he can see. Sure enough, by the window are two blonde honeys, drinking their glasses of red wine. Looking back to the barman Moran winks, picking up his bag to head over to their love seat.

"Evenin', ladies. Who left such fine ass honeys such as yourselves all alone, hm?" Looking to them both, his eyes wander to their heaving breasts from their tight tops and he feels inwardly that he is in luck.

"Back on leave, sir?" The words are purred almost seductively from the nearest blonde who can't stop her eyes from raking over him. Sebastian Moran never has trouble with picking up women. It's a fact you need to learn.

"Back for good, ma'am. My time in the army, is over." Taking a good gulp of his drink, Moran doesn't hesitate in placing a hand on her bare leg, her dress too short to be acceptable in this sort of place- it's obvious what she is here looking for.

She bats her eyelashes at him, riding it up further. "So you would have time for... us?" She looks to her friend and back, licking her lips.

"I could have all the time in the world for you." (Not that it takes long to give a Basher Moran Special) but they are words that _work._ Moran leans further into the girl, her friend coming to sit the other side of him, starting to whisper things in his ear. What a _naughty girl indeed. _

"Excuse me."

An interruption. How nice. Moran rises to face two burly looking men, arms folding across their chests. "Gentlemen, how can I be of service?"

"You can be of service, by fucking off right now." The slightly taller one cracks his knuckles nearing Moran aggressively. "Don't come back in here if you plan on trying it on one of our women."

Moran smirks again (this guy doesn't know who he is dealing with). "It seems like she was willing to give me more than you would think." He leans closer to the man to whisper the exact words the blonde slut had said. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a raise of a fist intended for his face and blocks the incoming blow expertly with his forearm. Whilst the target is still absorbing the shock Moran smartly smashes his nose in completely.

"Now, now. Temper." Moran raises his hands up in the air as he backs away with an even bigger smirk spreading across his face, watching the man struggle furiously in the arms of his mate, clutching his now bleeding nose. He could have a full fight. He could win easily, but somehow he just doesn't want to waste his first night of freedom with an aggressive scuff which is unnecessary and for sure the satisfaction would not be for long. He looks back to the blonde honeys on his right. "Have a good life with these fucks. I can tell he shags you like a lady, when I would do you like a dog."

He grabs his rucksack from the bottom of the bar stool and downs the rest of his bitter in one. Making his way back to the door he stops as he hears the man speak.

"Who the fuck are you anyway?" he spits, as blood spills from his lips.

"The name's Moran." He looks about the pub which is now deadly silent at the thought of a brawl and gives a nod. "Good evenin'." And with that he walks out into the cold and bitter weather, trudging- for now that is- to a destination unknown.


End file.
